Thy present state I pity do,
Come, I'll provide thee better meat.
I'll feed thee with white bread and milk,
And sugar-plums, if them thou crave;
I'll cover thee with finest silk,
That from the cold I may thee save.

"My father's palace shall be thine,
Yea, in it thou shalt sit and sing;
My little bird, if thou'lt be mine,
The whole year round shall be thy spring.
I'll teach thee all the notes at court,
Unthought-of music thou shalt play,
And all that thither do resort
Shall praise thee for it every day.

"I'll keep thee safe from cat and cur,
No manner o' harm shall come to thee;
Yea, I will be thy succorer,
My bosom shall thy cabin be."
But lo, behold, the bird is gone!
These charmings would not make her yield;
The child's left at the bush alone,
The bird flies yonder o'er the field.

The child of Christ an emblem is;
The bird to sinners I compare;
The thorns are like those sins of theirs,
Which do surround them everywhere.
Her songs, her food, her sunshine day,